


together undivided (forever we'll be free)

by mwestbelle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Amputation, Harlequin, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pirates, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As captain's clerk aboard <i>Ocean's Shield</i>, Steve Rogers is not the naval hero he hoped he would be. But when his ship comes across the dread ship <i>Winter</i>, everything changes.</p><p>[Written for MCU Harlequin]</p>
            </blockquote>





	together undivided (forever we'll be free)

**Author's Note:**

> After much consternation and indecision, I decided the only thing I could write for my Harlequin AU was PIRATES! Big ups to Misha for all the hand-holding and the quick beta job.
> 
> Title is from Flogging Molly's "Seven Deadly Sins"

When he was a boy, Steve would sit on the stone wall at the end of the street and look out over the harbor below. It was well worn from years of storms, the rocks uneven and uncomfortable under his bony hips, and always left green moss stains on his trousers that made his mother cluck her disapproval when he returned home. But she never told him not to sit on the wall, because she knew.

He was sitting there when another boy, small and dark, clambered up beside him. He sat close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. "What are you doing?"

Steve barely glanced at him before turning his gaze back out to the sea. "I'm watching for my father."

"Oh." The boy was restless, kicking his feet and letting the heels of his shoes tap back against the wall. "I'm watching for my father too."

He spoke with harsh certainty, almost daring Steve to accuse him of lying. He was, of course; their town was a small one, and though Steve had never spoken to the boy before, it was well-known that he had no father, no proper name. But Steve had no interest in causing a quarrel; he just nodded and watched the tiny shapes of men working the docks.

*

Steve wakes and does not move; he squeezes his eyes shut tighter and fights against the roil of nausea in his gut. The seas have been rougher this voyage than he's ever experienced, but he won't allow himself to look weak in front of the crew. They already treat him as though he's still a green boy, though he's been sailing for years now and as captain's clerk he outranks them. He knows better than anyone that a letter and a title don't mean much out on the waves, but he's always worked to pull his weight. More than, because even a second to catch his breath gets him branded as weak and soft because of the narrowness of his shoulders, that he spends his days writing the captain's letters, keeping the ship's log instead of hauling rope and swabbing decks.

There's a sharp rap on the door, and Steve swallows hard. 

"Rogers, wake up." It's Sam, and any relief at recognizing the voice of a friend disappears at the knowledge that something dire must be on the horizon if Sam has come down from his place in the crow's nest to fetch him. "The captain needs you."

"I'm awake," he calls back. He swings his legs over the side of his bunk, and they don't quite touch the ground. He's grateful to have earned his way to a position that affords him a private cabin; his time sleeping in hammocks amongst the crew was not a pleasant one, both due to height and the pranks of his shipmates. Sam opens the door and steps inside. He looks more shaken than Steve has ever seen him.

"There's a ship approaching," Sam says while Steve clambers out of bed and tugs his breeches on, tucking his shirt into them.

There's only one reason a ship would have Sam looking like this. "And it's flying a black flag?"

Sam shakes his head. "Worse."

Steve crosses to retrieve his uniform coat from the small wardrobe. Each brass button is clean and shiny, polished before bed. "What do you mean, worse?"

"A black flag with a red star."

Halfway through putting his coat on, Steve freezes and stares back at Sam over his shoulder. "You're certain?"

That, at least, has Sam frowning at him. "Have my eyes ever steered us wrong?"

"Of course not." Steve sighs and tugs on his coat. "Let me put my boots on and I'll meet you on deck."

Instead of leaving, Sam leans against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "Captain Fury instructed me to come back with you or not at all. I can wait."

Steve huffs out a breath and crosses to the small desk where he does most of his work, tugging on his boots and tightening the laces. He forgoes his hat; if the sea is as rough as it feels, he'll just be in danger of losing it, and there are clearly more important issues at hand. 

He trails Sam up onto the deck. The sky is a forbidding gray, though it hasn't started to rain yet. The sea is choppy, waves lapping against the ship with hunger. Steve's surprised to spot the ship immediately on the horizon; it's not close enough that he can see what colors it flies from this vantage point, but far closer than he expected. Closer than a pirate ship ought to be to a naval vessel without violent intent on both sides.

Captain Fury stands at the rail, staring through a spyglass with his good eye. Steve salutes once he reaches the captain's side, but Fury waves him off.

"This is no time for formalities, Rogers. You recognize that ship?"

"Mr. Wilson told me that she's flying a black flag with a red star." Steve looks from the shape of the ship in the near distance, then back to Fury. "And the _Winter_ is the only ship I know that sails under those colors."

"So they say." Fury pushes his spyglass shut and hands it off to Sam. "And do you have any idea why the most fearsome pirate ship in the seven seas is drifting?"

Steve blinks. "Drifting, sir?" After a sharp nod from Fury, Sam passes the spyglass to him. Steve trains it on the ship and, sure enough, it doesn't appear to be moving under any particular command. He can't see any crew on the deck adjusting the sails. Not any crew at all, no human movement. "She's dead in the water."

"That's certainly what it looks like." Fury scowls out over the ocean. "If those pirates saw us, they should either be running away or coming over here for a fight. Hell, they ought to at least have a destination in mind. This doesn't make a damn lick of sense."

"Is it a ghost ship?" Steve frowns too, lowering the spyglass. "Those pirate ships are crawling with vermin and disease. Maybe everyone aboard succumbed."

"Maybe." Fury doesn't sound convinced. He jerks his head towards Sam. "Gather a few good men, just enough for one boat. And I don't want anyone knowing what ship that _might_ be."

Although this is a naval vessel and therefore theoretically above such things, these men are still sailors. And sailors are superstitious to a fault, braggarts and deeply wary of all legends. Steve's heard his fair share about the _Winter_. They say no ship she turned her guns on has ever survived. They say her captain is a demon who cut off his own left arm because it was useless to him, a madman with insatiable blood lust. He doesn't even have a name, so deeply entwined with his ship that he's called only _Winter_ 's Captain. Steve has found very few pirates live up to their reputations, but this one is dark enough to make him nervous.

Sam heads off to assemble his crew; Steve would never be considered for such an operation. He knows that it's for the good of all the men, that he would only put his shipmates in danger if he was allowed to enter the fray, but he can't quell a longing deep in his bones. He wants to be of use, and as often as he tells sneering sailors that the clerk's role is vital to the ship, no one really believes it. Least of all himself.

He lingers on the deck for a few moments longer before Fury seems notice him. "Don't you plan to record this incident, Rogers?"

"Of course, sir." Steve nods sharply and turns on his heel. He feels like a schoolboy again, told off for gawking. He's of no use on deck, of course, and there'll be no more news until Sam returns from the _Winter_. His quarters smell of stale sweat from the night still, but he ignores it to settle at his desk, flipping open the logbook. He selects a quill and uncaps his ink, careful to leave it in the small well in the desk that keeps it from capsizing, even when it feels like the ship might.

He marks a fresh page with the date and starts to inscribe the day's events. There are protocols to observe, important information that must be recorded to keep their commanders properly informed of every corner of the oceans.

A commotion pulls him back to the deck hours later. He can hear shouting, some men cursing, and Steve is sure that Sam must have returned from his scouting mission. He leaves the book open to dry and hurries back up, his earlier nausea all but forgotten.

It seems that most of the sailors are on the deck, a mass huddled near the side. He can just barely hear Fury bellowing over the din, but slowly, the crowd starts to back away and he can hear, "Get the damn hell back or I'll throw the lot of you in the brig with him."

 _Him._ Fury can't mean the captain himself; Steve knows better than to try to push through the knot of tall, grizzled sailors, but he's suddenly desperate to see for himself. He'll need to include this in the log, after all, he has perfectly legitimate reasons to want to gape at what might be the most legendary pirate sailing today. A few men give him a grunt of acknowledgement as they return to their work, but most ignore him. He inches closer, slowly making his way towards Fury as the other crewmen leave. One man spits on the deck after he turns, and Steve hopes that wasn't meant for him.

Finally, he gets close enough to see Sam standing over a man stretched out unconscious on the deck. The first thing he notices is that he is, indeed, missing his left arm. The entire arm from the shoulder, it looks like; nothing left to attach a hook or claw to, as pirates were wont to do. He is dressed simply in dark breeches and a loose white shirt with one arm torn off, leaving a frayed mess of thread that makes the missing arm even more stark.

He drags his eyes up to look at the face of _Winter_ 's captain, a pirate with more murder and mayhem to his name than any other yet living. His hair is long and greasy, his jaw covered in rough stubble, and he is unmistakably James Barnes. 

Steve barely manages to turn before he loses control of himself, spilling the meager contents of his guts on the deck. 

"Damn it, Rogers." Fury's voice sounds far away as Steve sinks to his knees next to his own sick, his knees suddenly too wobbly to support him. He presses his face in his hands, trying to breathe and calm himself. Bucky Barnes was a good man, a good sailor. His ship was taken by pirates. There were no survivors. He died an honorable death. An _honorable_ death.

There's a weight on his back; Sam kneels next to him and rests his hand on Steve's back, between his shoulder blades. "Are you alright?"

Steve coughs, the taste of bile still acrid on his tongue. "I recognize him. The...I know him."

"You know him?" Sam is too expressive to hide the disgust that crosses his face before he glances back at the man behind them.

"He was--" _my brother, my friend, my_ "--in the navy. We grew up together. They told me his ship was taken by pirates. No one survived."

Captain Fury grunts. "No one but turncoats, apparently."

Steve's stomach twists all over again hearing Bucky spoken of like that, even though it appears to be the truth. He looks back at Bucky, hoping that somehow he was wrong, but the longer he looks the more sure he becomes. Under the grime and what must be years of harsh living, it's unmistakably Bucky.

"Get him in the brig before he wakes up." Fury almost sounds excited, which Steve can't remember happening before. It makes sense - capturing _Winter_ and her vicious captain is quite a coup. He wouldn't be surprised if Fury made commodore on this.

"I'll help." Steve forces himself to his feet, and Fury gives him a stern glare in no way dispelled by having the use of only one eye. But after a long moment, he just nods. Sam seems briefly at a loss for how to carry the captain, given that he has only one arm to grip. But eventually he figures out how he can grip under one arm with a fist in the waistband of his breeches to steady the other side. Steve struggles just to support his feet, but he does his best to help Sam take Bucky down into the bowels of the ship. The brig is thus far empty on this voyage, thankfully. Given that Bucky - and Steve has to think of him as Bucky, even if he looks so different, even with all the tales he's heard - can't be restrained with manacles, he needs to be locked away entirely. Sam does fasten the irons around his ankles and, after a long moment, another one to his one wrist.

"I don't want to chance an escape," Sam says with a slight shudder when he sees Steve watching him. "If even half of what they say is true, he could kill all of us before we knew he was out." Despite himself, Steve flinches, and Sam immediately looks contrite. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, you're right." Steve stares down at the unconscious, bound man slumped against the wall of the ship. He lights such a familiar warmth in Steve's chest, but Steve has no idea who he is now. What's happened in the time that he thought Bucky was dead. "How did you incapacitate him?"

Sam crosses out of the brig and slams the iron door shut behind them, tugging to make sure it's securely locked. He looks back through the bars. "We didn't. He was just...lying there on the deck."

"No crew?"

"We searched the ship." Sam shakes his head. "Strangest damn thing I've ever seen. There's no way a man could cast off a ship that size alone, the crew must have died or left once they were already at sea. A few boats were missing."

"And they left him?" Steve swallows hard. "Like...a marooning in reverse?"

"Maybe. Hell if I know." Sam finally turns away and shudders. "The sooner we make it to land and can hand him over to trial, the better. I know I won't sleep properly until then."

It takes Steve longer to tear his eyes away. "Hopefully the wind will be on our side."

He returns to his quarters to complete the report, even though his head is spinning. Once he gets his quill in hand, he forces everything down to a dull roar. His hand moves across the page, and he watches it as though it isn't even attached to him, describing the state of _Winter_ and her captain now imprisoned in the brig. 

There is much else to do, the day to day work of the captain's clerk, and he writes his missives and records their position and speed with quiet efficiency. His mind is far away, back at home and years ago. He can't stop picturing Bucky when he laughed, his entire body moving with the force of it, handsome face split into a huge grin. The way Bucky always stood up for him, even though he was a bastard boy, just as easy a target as Steve and without any social rank to hide behind. He put himself in the line of fire instead of Steve when it would have been so much easier to stand by and keep his nose clean. They enrolled in the Navy together, and Bucky was the first one to insist that clerk was an important role. _You're sulking now,_ he said across a pint of ale, nudging his foot against Steve's under the table, _Just wait until us louts are swabbing the deck and you're sitting pretty in your own private cabin, making sure the ship runs honorable and true. S'the best job for you, Steve._ Bucky had such a way with words that he'd almost convinced him.

When he finds a spare moment, Steve slips down below decks to the brig. A young pimply sailor is stationed outside, more an alarm than a jailer. Steve slips him a few silver coins and the boy promises to fetch Steve as soon as Bucky awakes.

It takes near a day, and Steve is starting to think he's been cheated when there's a knock on his door in the late afternoon. He just sees the boy's back as he disappears up onto the deck, but the message is clear enough. He can't get down to the brig fast enough.

Fury isn't even here yet, which means the boy was true to his word and came to Steve first thing. He'll have to give him some extra coin as a reward, especially if Fury should realize what happened.

The only other soul in the room is Bucky. Steve approaches slowly, peering into the cell. Bucky is sitting up against the back wall, knees up. His one good arm rests across his knees, and his hair falls in front of his face, the solitary oil lamp casting much of his face into shadow. 

"Bucky." Steve's voice sounds hoarse even to his own ears; it isn't a name he ever expected to be using again. Bucky doesn't even look at him. "It's Steve. Steve Rogers. You remember me." Still no response. Steve's heart is pounding so hard in his chest, enough that he's almost certain Bucky can hear it pounding away too. "Bucky, please."

Finally, Bucky raises his head. His eyes are dim, almost blank, none of the light and laughter Steve used to know. "I am not this man. You're mistaken."

Steve's stomach flips. "I'm not." He's never been more sure of anything, and he can't understand how Bucky could lie to his face like that. He never did hit that growth spurt Bucky always joked about; he looks just as he did the day they embraced each other for the last time before Bucky reported for duty at the docks. Bucky's the one who has changed, but Steve still knows him.

There's no time to say so, because Fury is thundering down the stairs. He gives Steve a dark look that clearly says _later_ before he rounds on Bucky. "You've got a lot to answer for, sailor."

Bucky tips his head back against the hull of ship and looks at Fury through half-lidded eyes. "So it would seem." He seems so cold, as though he doesn't know that he'll surely be hanged. Or perhaps he simply doesn't care.

Steve doesn't stick around. He doesn't need to raise Fury's ire any more than he already has. But he can't get Bucky out of his head. Once supper time comes, he stops by the galley and offers to take whatever meal Bucky will be offered down to him. He's handed a small cup of broth and a partially crumbled hardtack biscuit.

Tomorrow, he resolves, he'll save some of his own food for Bucky, but this is what he has to offer tonight. He takes it down to the brig, where a much larger sailor than the young boy from before is standing, arms folded across his chest. Steve is struck by how few of the crew he knows by name; he's lived on this ship amongst them for months, in and out of port, but he's never been one of them. And now this man is glaring at him with obvious suspicion.

"Captain's orders," Steve says, holding up the food. It's barely a lie, Fury would have needed to send _someone_ down with food for Bucky. "I'll wait, if you want to go get your dinner."

The sailor grunts, but he doesn't knock into Steve on his way past, which is a kindness Steve knows better than to expect. He and Bucky are alone once again, and he bends to place the bowl on the floor inside the cell, balancing the biscuit on top. "I know it's not much, but."

Bucky just grunts.

Steve sits and watches him until the sailor comes back. He barely moves and certainly makes no attempt towards the food. The bowl stops steaming, and all Bucky does is blink. Steve feels like he ought to speak to Bucky, implore him again, but he has no words. Instead, he studies Bucky's face. He's unshaven, true, but his jaw is also harder than it used to be. He's lost weight, hollow through the cheeks, and dark circles around his eyes that aren't just kohl. He looks haunted, and everything in Steve's chest aches to know what happened. What could have transformed his friend, the bravest man he knew, into this pirate, this shell.

He has no good reason to linger when Bucky's guard does return, so he goes back to his own quarters. But he can't sleep, staring up at the ceiling and listening to ever-present rush of the water carrying the ship, bearing her home to port. Home to the courts, where Bucky will be tried for his crimes, found guilty, and hanged from the neck until dead. He tries to close his eyes; all he can see is Bucky as he was, the both of them young men ready to defend their country. 

Steve takes Bucky his food the next day, and the next. This time, when the guard leaves, Steve talks.

"You took me to my first tavern." Steve lets himself smile at the memory, hoping that it might encourage some change in Bucky. "You said a man had to hold his drink if he wanted to be a sailor, and...god, you were the one who didn't know how to handle liquor. I practically carried you back to your mother's house. You made me swear not to tell anyone, and I didn't. Never breathed a word of it, Bucky."

Bucky says nothing, and Steve goes back to his quarters. But he comes back the next day. He speaks as quickly as he can, trying to fit in as many stories as possible, anything that might shake Bucky out of his daze, something to give him a glimpse of the man who has to still be inside somewhere.

"You were the only one who saw me cry after my father died," Steve says, one day, his throat dry and voice raw. "I was just a boy, but I knew that I didn't want Mama to see. I wanted to be brave for her, but it hurt so much, I didn't know how I could bear it. I didn't think I was strong enough to carry a weight that heavy. But you--"

"Steve." It's the first word Bucky's spoken to Steve since he's come back, the first time he's said anything to Steve's knowledge since that first day with Fury. Steve jerks his head up to see Bucky's eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tense. "Stop."

"Bucky." Steve scrambles closer, wrapping his hands around the bars. He knows he looks desperate, but he's painfully aware that they're getting closer and closer to port. Closer and closer to justice. "You remember, don't you?"

Bucky smiles, almost. It's like a smile in a cracked mirror. "Sure I do."

Steve has a thousand questions, but only one is important now. "What happened to you, Buck?"

Much like the smile, the sound that comes from Bucky's chest is only barely recognizable as a laugh. "It ain't worth it, Steve."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a pirate." Bucky shrugs one shoulder. "Killed people. Stole things. I'm guilty, and I'll pay for it. I can at least do that."

"This was never you." Steve can't believe it, even as Bucky's forced nonchalance is driving a knife into his heart. "You...they told me that you went down with your ship. The man I knew _would_ have, after he fought to his last breath. Don't try to tell me you turned tail and traded in your colors. I don't believe it."

"Believe it." Bucky sighs, and Steve can see his gaze flick to the hatch. It wouldn't do either of them any good for Steve to be caught this close to the cell, with such an obvious personal interest in the prisoner. "I told you before. I'm not that man."

Steve lets go of the bars and takes two steps back, a respectable distance. "That I certainly can't believe. Something happened to you, Bucky."

He's not sure whether or not Bucky will speak. Bucky stares at him for a long moment, but then footsteps interrupt them. Steve forces himself to look away, trying to convey as much disinterest as possible. He exchanges a nod with tonight's guard before rushing back to his quarters. His heart feels like it might burst from his chest. If nothing else, he got through to Bucky tonight. Bucky is still there, somewhere, and Steve is determined to discover the truth of how he became captain of _Winter_.

They're getting so close to home, and a few nights later Fury permits the crew a double ration of rum and a night at liberty. These are military men, but after a long and stressful voyage, Steve knows that very few eyes will be looking in the way of the brig tonight. He purloins a bottle from the crate, telling himself that he has as much right to a share in the booze as any, even if he doesn't intend to drink it himself. With the bottle hidden in his coat, he waits until singing has started before heading down to the brig.

The sailor guarding it looks stormy and is all too eager to allow Steve to relieve him of his post for the rest of the watch. Steve smiles and slips the bottle free, holding it out to Bucky. "I brought you something."

Bucky snorts, but he leans forward to accept. He grabs the cork between his teeth, tugging it free and spitting it across the cell before he takes a long swallow. "Is this your plan to learn all my secrets, Steve?"

"I know your secrets," Steve says, as blasé as he can manage. Anything from boyhood, he certainly does. He smiles. "I just want to understand what happened to you."

Bucky sighs. "What does it matter? I'm guilty."

Steve screws his face up, though, and the old Bucky was never able to resist his resolved face. Hopefully it still works. "It matters to me."

Bucky stares at him almost like he doesn't believe it, then he laughs quietly. "God, Rogers, you haven't changed a bit, have you? " It's unexpected, and Steve is a little flustered, but thankfully Bucky doesn't wait for him to respond. "When they took the ship, a few of us were captured instead of killed. We woke up in the hold. I don't know how they chose who to keep and who to burn." He takes a long swallow of rum and shakes his head. "They gave us no food, barely any water. I was delirious by the time I got dragged up onto the deck with the rest."

"And then?"

"And then they lined us up against the railing, and they went down the line. Either you swore to fly under a black flag on the _Hydra_ or you were shot."

Steve swallows hard. "That's when you...?" He can't quite finish the sentence. Bucky snorts, dry and bitter, and takes a drink.

"No. I said 'hell no' and I closed my eyes. But they didn't shoot me. This...man came forward. He was small, but I could tell the others were afraid of him. He said that I would be useful. That I could..." Bucky inhales deeply. Steve can feel how tense he is from here, and more than ever he wishes he could touch him, rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. "That I could be broken."

He says it with a finality that makes Steve nervous about asking anything more, but there's still so much that he wants to know. Steve watches Bucky's face before settling on his next question. It should be a simple answer, at least, though not a pleasant one. "What happened to your arm?"

Bucky makes a face, and Steve knows he's going to regret asking even though he has to know. "It was...taken."

His stomach roils, but Steve swallows hard. Bucky is the one who's lived through this suffering; he can be strong enough to hear about it. "Taken?"

"A warning. And a reminder." Bucky nods, and he flexes the fingers of his right hand. "There was nothing I had he couldn't take. They closed the wound with lye. And when that didn't seem to work properly, a few of my shipmates held me down at the next harbor and found an iron."

Steve hisses involuntarily, and Bucky just smiles, tight and rueful. "I'm sorry," Steve says. It sounds drastically insufficient, but he doesn't know what else there is he can say.

Bucky shrugs. "I survived. And I could still fight. After that, I fought who I was told to."

Steve can feel the ache all through his body, dying to comfort Bucky somehow, but he doubts there's anything he can offer to even salve Bucky's pain. Bucky seems to take his silence as a request for more, because after a long pause he continues.

"I was aboard _Hydra_ for a few years, and...I was strong. When another ship was seized, they made me captain. You've heard the rest."

"I've heard...stories about a monster." Steve makes a face. "Not a man who was _tortured_."

Bucky groans, shaking his head. "I am the monster, Steve. I can accept it, why can't you?"

Steve huffs, and he's not sure of the words to describe how he feels. But he knows, deep inside his bones, that what's happened to Bucky isn't his fault. "Because you're my brother," he says instead. "And I'm going to help you."

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. "You gonna say a prayer for me, Steve? Light a candle by Mary's statue while they're walking me to the gallows?"

"I've always prayed for you," Steve says. "And no. I'm going to get you out."

*

The actual freeing of a man from the brig seems fairly simple; it's what to do after that has Steve in a bind. Bucky is of no help at all; he's refused to even speak again of Steve rescuing him. Because that's what this is: a rescue mission. Finally a mission that he can be proud of, to make him feel worthy of the uniform that he wears. He's certain that no one else will see freeing a self-confessed pirate from the brig of a navy ship in quite the same way, but it doesn't make it any less worth doing.

Sam settles beside him at their noon meal with his own meager plate - they've almost exhausted their stores and will be in port within three day's time. They eat in companionable silence until Steve feels Sam's eyes on him. He looks over to find Sam frowning. "How are you feeling, Rogers?"

Steve swallows his tough mouthful of salted beef. "I'm fine. A little cabin fever, I guess."

Sam doesn't look convinced, but looks back to his plate. "You can tell me if something's wrong."

In any other instance, he could. Sam has been his closest and, really, his only friend since he joined the crew of the _Ocean's Shield_. A stalwart and true friend, and Steve has no doubt that given time, Sam would come to understand that Bucky's case is not so black and white as it appears. Unfortunately, they have no time. Although they are friends, Sam's first duty is to Captain Fury, and Steve couldn't ask him to betray that, not for a man he doesn't even know. 

"Nothing's wrong," he says, forcing a smile that he hopes looks natural. "I'll buy you a pint once we hit port, what about that?"

Sam smiles back. "Fine, but you better buy one for yourself too this time. No sipping."

That draws an honest smile, and Steve hopes that someday, when Bucky's name has been cleared, he actually will have the chance to go to a tavern with Sam again. "You have my word."

He returns to his cabin, ostensibly to continue his notes for the log, but instead pores over his maps and charts. The best way to escape would be to slip off in one of the boats during the night, but with Bucky's one arm and Steve's two weak ones, they won't be able to get very far rowing. He had wanted to go as soon as possible, to minimize the risk of being found out, but it's no good to set Bucky free only for both of them to die in open water.

"I've found a route," he tells Bucky that evening, during their nightly visit. He hopes that word of his continued interest in the prisoner hasn't reached Fury's ears; he's sure none of the guards would want the captain to know they were skiving off their assigned duties, but even a large ship like this is a small place for gossip. Either way, they won't be on the water much longer. "If we go the night before we hit port, we can row for the north. There's a monastery there. They'll shelter us, until we figure out what to do next."

The brig is dark tonight; there's not enough oil left to waste it on a lamp for a prisoner. The only light is the candle Steve carried with him. In the darkness, he can't quite make out Bucky's expression, though his derisive scoff is clear enough. "And what if I don't want to go to the monastery?" 

Steve rolls his eyes. "It would just be for a while, so we can hide. No one's asking you to become a monk."

"That's not what I mean." Steve can hear Bucky shifting around in the darkness, chains clanking. "What if you open the cage, unlock the irons, and I refuse to go with you?"

"Why would you do that?"

As always, Bucky's laugh is dry and harsh. What Steve wouldn't give to hear him laugh again like he did when they were young men. "Although you refuse to accept it, I am not so blind. I am _guilty_ , Steve, I deserve to hang. Why should I be given a respite?"

Steve swallows hard. In the silence, Bucky shifts, and then he speaks again, voice low and rough.

"If the pirate who killed your father came before you and told you the same story as I have, would you fight to spare his life, Steve? Because I've killed a lot of fathers. I'm no different--"

"You _are_." Steve's voice rises from passion, and he has to school himself; they cannot be overheard, not now. He whispers instead, each word forced from his lips. "You are different. You cannot be blamed for what a monster battered you into, and I won't watch you die. Not when the first time you died almost ruined me."

The silence that falls then is heavy, and Steve can feel his frail lungs struggling for breath as his heart pounds. He closes his eyes to focus on his breathing, with only the tiny orange-gold flicker of the candle flame intruding past his eyelids. The next sound is the telltale clanking of Bucky moving, but it carries on longer this time; he can hear the grate of metal being pulled along wood, and when he opens his eyes again, Bucky is standing. He must stand at some point, Steve knows, but he hasn't seen him on his own two feet since they dragged him on board. He's close, too, close enough that when he holds his hand out as far as the irons will allow, Steve can see even in the dark that he's close enough to touch.

Steve steps closer and reaches out, stretching his thin arm through the bars of the cell until he can clasp Bucky's hand in his. His hand is warm, rougher than it used to be, and all Steve can do is cling to him. "I _will_ save you."

After a moment, Bucky nods. His eyes are bright in the dark. 

When Steve returns to his cabin that night, something hot and twisted has settled in his belly that he doesn't entirely understand. He sleeps, and all of his dreams disappear before morning, leaving him with a strange unsettled feeling inside his chest.

Now that the plan has been set, Steve must put all of the pieces in order. As captain's clerk, he has his fair run of the ship, and it's not difficult to procure the keys to both the brig and to Bucky's chains. Food is a more difficult matter; they are almost to the end of their stores as it is, so anything missing is obvious. Steve has been ignoring the curl of hunger in his belly and saving as much of each meal as he can, hidden in his room, and he manages to purloin another few hardtack biscuits. He finds a few emptied liquor bottles and fills them with fresh water. Hopefully their trip to the monastery will be a smooth one. They haven't the supplies for any delays.

He packs all of this, along with his compass and a few carefully copied maps, the day of their escape. Men are feeling loose and easy, anxious to get into port and get off the ship. They've gotten lax, and Steve is feeling bolder than ever about their escape plan.

But when he gets to the brig, it's not a nameless sailor guarding Bucky. It's Sam.

His bag of supplies is already safely hidden near the boat he selected, so at least there isn't that to raise suspicions. But he's sure the look of shock on his face is enough. Sam has his arms folded, leaning against the far wall and watching Bucky, who has never looked more like a beast in a cage.

"Evening," Sam says, nodding to Steve. "Come for a last visit?"

Steve swallows hard around the lump in his throat. "I--it's not what it looks like."

"No?" Sam's expression is carefully blank. "Because it seems like you've been fraternizing with a pirate under the captain's nose."

"He's--" Steve bites off _not a pirate_ because that isn't true, really. He steels himself, drawing himself up as tall as he can and cocking his chin up. "He's been unjustly accused. He was forced."

"Is that what he says?"

"That's what I say." Steve takes a step closer, and he never wanted Sam to be involved in this, but now he is. "Sam, I can't let an innocent man hang. I know you can't either."

Sam shakes his head. "He seems pretty murderous and thieving for an innocent. Or has he been mistaken for some other one-armed vicious pirate?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. You know me. You know I only want to do what's right." Steve can feel Bucky's eyes on him, and it only makes him more confident. "This is right, Sam, even though it may not look it on the surface."

Sam watches him for a long minute. "You know, you could be captain if you stuck around, speech like that."

"I'm never going to be captain. Not tall enough by a long shot." Steve smiles. "But I can do this. Will you let me?"

Sam looks from him to Bucky and shakes his head. "God, Steve. I can't--this is a lot."

"I don't want you to do anything. I never wanted you to be involved." Steve knows that he's pleading now, but they have so little time. Every minute they spend is another one closer to shore, closer to capture, closer to Bucky's death at the end of a swinging rope. "Just...go back to your bunk. I won't even ask you to lie for me. If Fury asks in the morning, tell him you saw me in here. Just give me until then."

He can't breathe for the long, long minute it takes, while Sam stares at him, scrutinizing. Eventually, his expression cracks and he crosses to Steve. For a moment, Steve thinks he's going to subdue him, throw him in the brig along with Bucky, but Sam just clasps his shoulder. "You'd make a damn good captain." He turns, then, pointing at Bucky. "And you damn well better be worth this."

And then he's gone, disappearing back up to the deck, leaving Steve and Bucky alone. Bucky looks a little sick, and Steve already knows what he's going to say. He digs the key out of his breeches and comes to unlock the door. "Don't even say it. Of course you are."

"You could make something of yourself, Steve." Bucky practically flinches when the door swings open with the creak of ill-used metal. "Get up through the ranks. You don't have to throw your life away for mine."

"I'm small and sickly," Steve says, as calmly as he can. He kneels next to Bucky and takes out the other key to unlock his restraints. "It's on my father's name and my good penmanship that I'm here at all. I could live and die a clerk and never really help anyone. Or I could save my dearest friend from an unjust execution."

Once the manacles and irons are off, Bucky rolls his shoulder, flexing his freed right arm. It seems to have bolstered his spirits somewhat, because he smirks at Steve. "Dearest?"

It's a glimpse of his old self, and Steve's heart is buoyed in his chest. He offers Bucky a hand to help him to his feet. "You can make fun of me when we're rowing away from this ship."

It really is easier than it ought to be, enough so that Steve half wonders if Sam offered some assistance after all. He and Bucky sneak to one of the lifeboats off the side, the one he selected earlier. They both duck to the sound of footsteps, huddling low in the belly of the boat until the sailor passes, and it almost feels like they're boys again playing some grand imagined game. Steve struggles trying to lower the boat into the water, but Bucky's remaining arm is strong and they hit the water with a low splash. 

Steve takes the oars, and he paddles until his arms are on fire and he's wheezing for breath. Bucky reaches out to still his hand. They've been silent up until now, waiting on baited breath for a shout to go up or a cannon to go off, but _Ocean's Shield_ is small behind them now and the hazy pink light of dawn is just starting to peek over the horizon.

"Don't kill yourself," Bucky says. "Kind of defeats the point of liberating me from the navy, doesn't it?"

Steve wants to say something snappy in return, but he really has pushed himself too far. It takes a few minutes to recover his breath; Bucky fetches a bottle out of his pack and uncorks it, offering it to Steve for the first drink. He gratefully accepts it, taking a few quick sips. They need to conserve supplies as much as possible, especially now that the truth of Steve's physical prowess is obvious. He had hoped that perhaps in a moment of necessity he would find greater strength, but he still relies on the same weak body as always.

"I have no intention of dying," he says finally, but it sounds less like a joke now. 

"Good." Bucky accepts the bottle after Steve is finished. Steve watches him swallow, and it occurs to him that this is the first time he's seen he's seen Bucky up and free. He's even more unkempt and grimy than he was when they captured him, but he's also _free_. With the backdrop of the water and the sky, he could almost imagine them as they were on that last day at home, watching the sunrise before they went their separate ways - forever, it seemed. Bucky arches an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." Steve is embarrassed that his emotions show so easily on his face; of course, Bucky had always been able to read him better than anyone.

The sun, once it rises, is hot and inescapable in their tiny boat. Steve rows until he cannot bear it, until even the thought of moving his arms makes his stomach turn, and then he eats a few mouthfuls of food, a sip of water, and he starts to row again.

Bucky growls under his breath when Steve picks up the oars for the third time. "I didn't know I'd have to watch you work yourself to death."

Steve huffs out a wheezy laugh and pulls; he can feel it in his chest now, a soreness that stretches all through his body. "If you've figured out a way to row with one arm, you're welcome to help."

That quiets Bucky, at least, which Steve is thankful for. He has to focus on this, on the rocky coastline he can see on the horizon, or there's no way he'll be able to carry on.

He goes as long as he can, until he's delirious from the sun and the exertion, in so much pain that even breathing hurts. Bucky reaches for him, guiding him down to lie in the belly of the boat. The motion of it makes him nauseous, but there's not enough in his stomach to make him sick. "We have to keep going," he mutters, trying to sit up again. He has to get to oars. "There's no time."

"You have to rest," Bucky says, quietly intense. Steve forgets that Bucky was captain of his own ship for a time; he's very firm when he wants to be. Steve slumps again, staring up at the clear blue sky.

"Why did your crew leave?" 

"What?"

"Your crew." Steve shuts his eyes; the sun is too bright for him to stand. "They said you were alone on the ship. Did you crew leave you there?"

"I sent them away," Bucky says. His voice seems to be coming from far away, swimming into Steve's ears. "Some of them were like me, forced into service. So I sent them off in the boats, and I waited to die or be captured. Whichever came first."

Steve grunts, but he's already slipping from consciousness. The last thing he remembers before everything goes dark is the hint of a breeze stirring on his face and the splash of an oar hitting the water.

*

Steve can smell fresh roasted meat. He blinks awake to find that he's lying in a bed; a real, soft one with a down comforter and everything. The room is plain and unadorned but very clean, and there's a steaming bowl of stew on the bedside table. He pushes himself slowly to sitting, and then he realizes that Bucky is slumped in a chair across from him. He looks...clean. He's shaved and his hair is washed, tied loosely back so it doesn't hang lank in his face. He looks so much younger, even though his missing arm is even more jolting with the rest of him cleaned up.

He reaches to pull the bowl onto his lap and gasps at the pain that shoots through his arms. It wakes Bucky immediately. 

"Steve, god." He crosses and sits on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Like death warmed over." Steve's voice is raw when he speaks, but he smiles. "We made it?"

"Yeah. You almost got us there. I was able to...slowly stroke us the rest of the way to shore." Bucky smiles, and he's still too thin, but he looks so much better that it warms Steve's heart. "It actually probably helped our cause that I had to drag your unconscious body to the door, so. Good planning there."

"Thanks." Steve's stomach rumbles and he glances over at the bowl. In an instant, Bucky grabs it and pulls it to his own lap, picking up the spoon. Steve flushes. "You don't have to."

"You got me out," Bucky says simply, offering him a heaping mouthful of beef and carrot. Steve carefully accepts it, and it's by far the best thing he's tasted in months, flavorful and hot and fresh. "You brought us here. I'll feed you for the rest of our lives if I have to."

"Well." Steve can't help the warmth that builds in his heart. Bucky is here and alive and close, and for now, it seems that they're safe. "When you put it that way."

He lets Bucky feed him the stew slowly. He's starving, but he knows that rushing will only end with him spilling his guts on this nice clean floor. He can feel himself falling asleep again once he's warm and full, but he catches Bucky's wrist before he has to go. "You must be tired too. The bed is more than big enough for both of us."

They shared beds in inns as young men, too poor for proper lodgings, and he's sure Bucky is remembering it too when he smiles down at him. "If you insist."

Steve rolls onto his side, hissing softly at the soreness in his arm. His skin, too feels tight and hot from all the time under the sun. Bucky blows out the lamps, sending them into darkness. The bed shifts as Bucky crawls in behind him. He feels secure, for the first time since he found out Bucky was still alive.

He wakes overheated and briefly wonders if he's feverish, still delirious from the heat of the sun in the boat; but it's Bucky whose chest is broad and hot against his back, Bucky's cock hard against his ass. Steve squeezes his eyes shut again and tries to breathe. Being small and weak had made him a target too often in his youth; crewmates thought of him as the next best thing to a woman while they were out on the water, and Steve was quick to disabuse them of that notion.

But that's never been Bucky, and Steve isn't as surprised as he should be to find his own body starting to respond.

"Are you still my brother, Steve?" Bucky's voice is rough and muffled behind him, and it makes Steve bite the inside of his cheek. To indulge in sinful sexual congress, with a man no less, in a holy house seems unthinkable. But Steve has broken a man free from naval prison and escaped a ship, rowed his way to shore, thrown away his life for this. For _Bucky_ , who he always knew was the most important thing he had, even as a boy.

"Not my brother." Steve thinks of all he has done, and he has no shyness left. He rolls in Bucky's arms, wincing at the pain, so he can press their hips together, make Bucky feel. "My...my _dearest_."

"God." Bucky exhales hard, and Steve can feel the heat of his breath. "Did you ever imagine this?"

"No." Steve can't lie to Bucky, never could. "I didn't understand, really, but...I knew you were something different."

He wishes he could see Bucky, but maybe the cover of darkness is what allows them both to speak so candidly about something so forbidden. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. From the second I knew what it was to want."

Steve groans and rolls his hips against Bucky's. "I guess I'm...more feminine. It makes sense."

Bucky's answer is a harsh kiss, bruising. Steve has never been kissed like this before. "I never thought of you like that." 

"No?" Steve savors the well of warmth in his chest. 

"I thought about your big hands," Bucky says. His voice is rough with lust, rougher by the minute, and the rumble of it makes Steve so hard. He's never been one for brothels, but the muscle and strength of his fellow sailors didn't fill him lust either. He thinks now that perhaps it was always _Bucky_. "Your smile. Your bony hips. The way you could never back down, even when you ought to."

"That's what you've imagined?" Steve flushes. He's flattered to know he was an object of affection for Bucky, even when he never considered himself attractive. "It's hardly a great love story, is it?"

"I don't know about that." Bucky is closer, somehow, suddenly burying his face in Steve's neck. He marks him with wet, searing hot kisses, working from neck to shoulder and back up to his jaw, punctuating each word with another kiss. "It has pirates. Lovers torn asunder. Unlikely reunions. Daring feats. Suffering. Triumph. It sounds great to me."

"Oh," Steve says. "I suppose you're right."

They don't have much use for words after that. Steve is not unfamiliar with the ways men might find comfort with one another, but Bucky never urges him to roll onto his belly or tries to force him down beneath the covers. It is just as well, for Steve is too weak still to do much. They come together as equals, Bucky's warm rough hand wrapped around both of their cocks, heat and sweat and salty anticipation making the slide so sweet. He keeps kissing Steve, his lips or his temple or his earlobe, and moans so beautifully when Steve manages to kiss him back. He finds that Bucky's moans are intoxicating, and he resolves to draw as many from him as possible. Each one feels like a badge of honor, a medal brighter than the ones he could never hope to earn.

When he comes, he's briefly concerned what the monks will say about the mess, but it seems that Bucky has imagined this too. He licks his hand clean with long, slow strokes of his tongue, never taking his eyes off of Steve.

"You were right," Steve mumbles as Bucky wraps his arm securely around him, holding him to his chest. "You are a devil."

"Only yours, my captain," Bucky whispers back.

In the morning, Steve wakes to an empty bed. He closes his eyes for a moment to chase the memories of last night and remind himself that it wasn't a dream. Belatedly, he wishes that he'd taken Bucky's hand and had a taste for himself, so at least that would linger on his tongue.

The door opens, and Bucky enters with two steaming bowls of porridge. "Breakfast, Captain?"

"Don't call me that." Steve flushes, but he holds his hands out for the bowl. He can feed himself today, albeit slowly, but Bucky still sits beside him in the bed while he eats his own breakfast.

They're nearly halfway through when Bucky turns to him. "What's next?"

Steve just avoids dribbling porridge down his chin, slurping around the spoon. "Next?"

"You rescued your pirate," Bucky says with a small smile. "Braved the open sea. Displayed strength and courage beyond your stature. What do you plan to do now?"

"I plan to heal." Steve sets his spoon in the bowl. He had pondered this the long nights before Bucky's escape, and he can feel resolve steeling his heart once more. "And then we'll gather a crew and set sail to track down the _Hydra_. We'll bring its captain to justice and clear your name once and for all. That is, as long as you're willing."

Bucky is quiet, obviously deep in thought for a long moment. When he looks up at Steve again, there is a fire in his eyes that Steve hasn't seen since the day they both enrolled in the navy. It feels like a fresh start for the both of them, a new trail to be blazed together. "Willing and able. I'd follow you anywhere, Captain."

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://villainsexuale.tumblr.com) for more ridiculousness


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